Walking By Faith
by sbarra
Summary: Christy has succumbed to the Cove's horrible eye disease. Neil rushes her to Asheville. Meanwhile, Margaret has a new scheme to 'get rich quick'. Hints of a 'Happy Ever After' for Neil and Christy at the end. *Complete - Thanks for reading and reviewing*
1. Part 1

'_**Walking By Faith'**_

_Disclaimer: The story of Christy is owned by the Marshall-LeSourd Family. I am in no way seeking profit or credit for Catherine Marshall's story. This fiction is written for my own amusement only. This story uses themes from the book, CBS series and the telemovies and tries to answer the cliff-hangers of 'The Road Home'.  
_

_Author's Note: I'm re-posting this one after taking it down to edit it; it's now complete. I hope you like it! _

_**Part 1**_

Time seemed to stand still – even the Fall breeze seemed to be holding its breath. Christy stood near the steps of the schoolhouse. Her class waited. Some, mostly the boys, were curiously looking on. Some, mostly the girls, were whispering about romance and courting. Tears pooled in Christy's large, blue eyes. Wasn't this what she had dreamt of? A man who shared her faith and who treated her with affection was offering her his love.

She looked at the lovely diamond ring perched in its elegant velvet box. She looked at David – taking in his tall frame, work-worn hands and expectant, kind face. He had been so good to her. Christy gulped apprehensively – startled by the sudden intensity in his grey-blue eyes. David's broad shoulder's stiffened as she turned away from him towards Neil.

Christy thought about how the heart was a wild and wondrous thing: strong enough to survive death, but fragile enough to break over an unkind word. She now faced the most important decision of her life. Christy's choice would forever change the course of her life and all those that she loved. She could not make this decision rashly – it was far too important and she began to feel anger towards David for asking her in front of so many people – for making it so hard for her to say 'No' or 'Maybe next time.'

Then she felt guilty – David had made his intentions clear months ago; he had given her time to search her heart. If she still could not say 'Yes – I love you in the exact same way – let us be married,' then what did that mean? Could she learn to love him as more than a Christian brother and beloved friend? Should she say 'Yes' and hope that she would be able to be as passionate about him as he was about her? Doubts fluttered around her mind like autumn leaves in a gale. How she wished that she could run up towards Big Spoon Creek and see…

Christy forced herself to look up at her silent confidante – so close to her, and yet so far from being able to return her feelings. Why had Neil followed her back to the Mission? Why had he not stayed in his rebellious wife's embrace? Their eyes met and Christy saw the patient compassion that she treasured about him. She also saw a sad vulnerability and she wished he would let her in to the locked room that was his heart. Christy started, realising that Neil's eyes were searching her own. Could he see what made her hesitant about accepting the Preacher's hand? Did Neil realise how much she dreamt of him – how much she wished that they could be together?

Christy looked away in shame. Had it really only been an hour ago that she had raced to Neil's cabin? She had felt free then – ready to shout about her feelings up to the very top of Pebble Mountain! She had wanted to declare that she knew who she was and who she wanted to be with. It was foolhardy to have been carried away by such sentiments! Christy scolded herself. It was highly improper for her to even imagine being united with Neil.

Christy felt trapped and terribly guilty. Perhaps the Lord was punishing her. She had wanted to convince Neil to divorce Margaret more than she had wanted him to repent and follow God's plans for his life. She had raced up to his cabin, exhilarated after her discussion with Fairlight. What she had seen had shocked her – but it shouldn't have. Neil and Margaret holding one another tightly was merely a sign that they were bound together under God. What would she tell the children if they asked her what was the right thing to do in this situation? The answer, voiced in her own speech to Margaret in El Pano was that Mrs MacNeill should be rebuilding her relationship with 'the Doc'.

The whirlwind of indecisive thoughts circled again in her confused mind. Christy took a deep breath and glanced back down at the ring. What would God have her do? It seemed almost perfect to marry David – a faithful man who wanted to work for the Lord. But, another thought struck her, she could not marry David if she did not truly love him. Her vows of loving obedience to him would mock God's gift of marriage. Christy glanced back up at Neil – frozen in this heart-wrenching tableau. She felt ashamed as she wished she could ride away from the Cove with him on the back of his horse. Her eyes roved over his creased face, his strong jaw, his curly hair, and his worried eyes. No one had known about Margaret being alive when Christy had first begun to have these feelings for Neil, but now that she had returned, Christy wished the desires of her heart would change. But, that would not happen overnight – and David wanted an answer now.

How long had she stood there? Was it a moment or an eternity? Christy turned away from both men. She needed… she wasn't sure what she needed. Part of her wished to flee and weep, part of her wished to stay and be strong for the children. The thought of them sustained her as she stepped towards David. He hopefully gazed at her face.

"I love you, David," Christy resolutely said over the lump in her throat. "I love you and I don't want to lose you."

"I love you, too," he replied, worried by the finality in her tone.

"But…not in the same way… I… could not have expected you to ask me in front of so many people… but it does not sway me from my convictions… I… I love the Lord and I want to serve Him here with you… my friend."

"But, you do not think…" he took a deep breath to control his temper, "You do not think… that you shall ever feel yourself ready to consent to becoming my wife?"

Christy saw how much he was hurting and wished that there was something that she could do to stop him from looking so wounded – instead she was the cause of his hurts.

David stepped towards her and she was glad that the children could not see the angry glare that he cast at the doctor. "If… If I had asked you without… without…someone interrupting my proposal…" He dropped his voice, "Without someone coming between us…"

Christy prayed for him and sought some way to lessen the blow, "I am not worthy of your love, David. My answer shall always be 'No.'" The ring-box closed with a snap.

"Not worthy?" he repeated, absent-mindedly taking the ring that she had thrust back into his out-stretched hand. "I…" he glanced down at what should have been her proudest possession. "I… I will follow Alice to… uh…"

"Raven Gap," Christy supplied, wishing there was some way to comfort him.

David turned to the class, suddenly overwhelmed by how many children had witnessed his humiliating rejection. Rage against MacNeill burnt within him. He spun on his heel and it took all of his self-control to head towards the barn.

Christy did not wait to watch him saddle his horse. She turned to Neil, averting her gaze and tried to prepare something to say, anything to say to make him leave. Before she could overcome her nerves, he dismounted from Charlie and hitched the horse's reins to the post.

Christy took a few steps away and then said in a loud and falsely bright voice, "Thank you for stopping by while you were paying your calls, Doctor MacNeill. As you can see, the children and I are all quite well."

"Christy," he said quietly, his head on one side as he glanced up at her. "I shall stay until someone is fetched to help you. You cannot stay in the Mission overnight alone."

Christy nodded, realising that it was alright to let him take charge while she recovered her composure. He pressed a handkerchief into her trembling fingers and she tried to convey her gratitude with a look. Christy wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She listened as Neil sent John to fetch his parents to the Mission House. It was so unlike David to leave without waiting for Miss Alice to return from her visits to the outposts; but then again this was such an unlikely turn of events. Christy wished that she could see beyond these circumstances and perceive the consequences of her choice. Christy realised that she must stay true to the goal she had set for herself in coming to the Cove. She must walk by faith and not by sight. She must devote herself to the children. That thought put a slight spring into her step. Adrenaline took over and she found herself behaving as if no distressing scene had just occurred. Not wanting to frighten the little ones, she used her regular tone of voice and bustled back into the school room, parting the small crowd who had gathered on the steps. Christy did not glance back to see Neil following her.

Soon, the children were all seated watching her and whispering amongst themselves. Creed, who had occupied one of the back row seats with Sam Houston and Little Burl, turned and muttered, "Doc, good thing you're here, wouldn't want Miz Christy to faint dead away, without yer help…"

Neil tousled his hair and then rested against the back wall once more, keeping his eyes on Christy, who was assuring the children that she was not 'plumb crazy' for 'refusing the Preacher's hand' and trying to convince the older girls that finishing their lessons was much more important than talking about how she was 'much too old to give up on courting' and 'had to see that their weren't too many good beaus around'. Some of the older boys were quite affronted by this suggestion and it almost made Neil chuckle. His eyes barely ever left Christy's face and he found himself wishing that he could step forward and offer himself as a worthy suitor. Such a ludicrous notion soon had him inwardly mocking himself and focussing on his bitterness to Margaret who would not – despite her unfaithfulness – set him free.

Suddenly, Becky O'Teale was proudly beaming at him and declaring, "Doc MacNeill could do it!"

This quickly brought him back to the rustic schoolroom. "I… I could?" he asked, bewildered.

"Doc wasn't payin' attention…" Sam Houston teased.

"He ain't a believer," Zady reminded them.

Neil tried to make sense of the conversation that had interrupted his recriminations. Christy tapped the blackboard with chalk – underlining several words from the tenth chapter of the Gospel of Mark.

"The Son of Man came to minister… to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many. When Jesus saw poor Bartimaeus, he healed his sight and reminded him to live a faithful life." She finished and then, often lacking confidence in explaining Biblical ideas, added, "Is that what Reverend Grantland covered?"

"Yes, ma'am," Rob Allen said reassuringly from one of the boy's rows.

"So…" Becky asked, "How did the Doc heal my eyes? "

"He has faith in Science." Rob replied, hoping that this would appease the younger children.

Christy's gaze met Neil's for the briefest second and she was startled that he was staring at her so fixedly. Christy hesitated, "Well, one does not need to believe in God to use his God-given gifts. Is there anything you wanted to add about Faith or Science, Doctor MacNeill?" She asked, hoping beyond hope that he was not going to begin a prolonged debate about atheism.

"No, Miss Huddleston," he replied, glancing out to see Jeb and Fairlight Spencer approaching the Mission House with Daniel Scott.

"I have a question," Mountie whispered, loud enough only for Christy, and the girls in the front row, to hear.

"What is it, Mountie?" Christy inquired, drawing the attention of most of the class to the shy child.

Mountie hesitated and then asked, "Will yer stay in Cutter Gap even though the Preacher is mighty mad with yer?"

Christy leant forward and scooped up the precious girl, "I certainly shall. Who else would make Zach learn his fractions or Lulu her letters? I shall stay to serve you all – just like in the verse."

Neil found himself clearing his throat. He motioned for the other adults to enter and break up the heart-warming scene. Not because he was untouched by the sentiments, but rather, because he was overcome by them. He was astounded by her faithful dedication to the children and to a God that he could not bring himself to trust ever again.


	2. Part 2

_**Part 2**_

That afternoon, Neil spent a few hours keeping an eye on Christy. She seemed sure of her Christian duty to the schoolchildren, but of little else. She had even had trouble deciding whether she wanted tea or water to drink and Fairlight had fussed over her for some time. Ruby Mae had been banished to clean out the hen house after a number of 'O My Lordy' swoons over the ring that 'Preacher had offered Miz Christy.' Neil could hear John and Zady rebuking their flame-haired friend as the little ones trailed after them.

The doctor, meanwhile, had done something, which, much to his own chagrin he had not offered the day before. Neil volunteered to bring a group of men to help Daniel Scott to rebuild his cabin. Daniel had seemed surprised and grateful that his mentor was truly eager to assist him after the devastating fire and his ill-advised hunt for Bird's-Eye near Miss Hattie's cabin. Neil had abruptly told Christy and Jeb not to keep thanking him. His ulterior motive made him feel guilty enough, without commendations adding to it. Neil, simply and selfishly, wanted to escape the confines of his cabin where Margaret was, no doubt, making herself at home.

After watching Christy begin to help fixin' dinner, he chatted to Dan for some time outside the bunkhouse. Daniel, as perceptive as ever, realised that Neil was in no hurry to endure another 'scene' with his headstrong wife. He kept his own feelings on that subject to himself, mentioning instead his concern about the speed of Alice's departure early that morning, and his hope that Reverend Grantland would seek to offer her solace more than to seek it from her. Neil bit his tongue and then changed the subject back to an Ophthalmology text that he would bring to the Working for Dan to peruse. They talked more about the physiology of the eye than even Doctor MacNeill was wont to do. Meanwhile, Dan noticed the doctor's eyes roving back and forth along the Mission's porch as Christy and Fairlight swept and tidied.

"I'll keep an eye on things, along with the Spencers, of course," Daniel replied, reading Neil's thoughts.

"I appreciate it, Dan," Neil replied, unhitching and then mounting his horse. "Despite all her bravado, Miss Huddleston has many… delicate sensibilities."

"I'd wager that she's stronger than most," was all Daniel said in reply, tipping his wide-brimmed hat as Neil nudged Charlie and turned the bridle towards the Mission House.

"Well be seeing you, Doc," Fairlight called, speaking much more dismissively to him than she had in some time.

"Give our best wishes to Margaret," Christy said, before turning to carry the broom inside.

Neil played the expression on her face over a few times, as if he had a motion picture projector in his mind. She had smiled, her tone had been light, but her eyes had, her eyes had been deep pools of sadness. Her remorse over wounding Grantland's pride would probably weigh heavily on her for months. Neil pulled on the reins and brought Charlie to a slow walk, not being in any hurry to face Margaret's barbs over him cantering off after the woman that he could never have. He spent several minutes in silent and bitter comparisons between the two: Christy's selfless and sometimes idealistic devotion to others shone like the sunset in light of Margaret's selfish and dark disdain for anyone except herself. He found himself imagining what Christy would say if she could read his mind. The certainty that she would never return his love – the life he could see them sharing with one another- irked him as he travelled on.

Several Cove kinsfolk had called out to Neil to ask him if the 'news' was true – had the Preacher 'Shorely been treated awful poorly by Miz Christy?' Neil did not mind his journey being delayed, but would rather have avoided this particular item of gossip. One elderly woman tried to insist that Neil 'stay a spell and tell her kin what city gals want in a man.' The amount of sympathy for Grantland surprised the weary doctor, particularly when he compared it to the ire earned by Christy's refusal of David's proposal. He found himself explaining more than once that Miss Huddleston saw her place to be teaching the children.

One grandmother replied, 'But is she plumb crazy, Doc? Ain't she fixin' to have her own young'uns. It ain't natural-like."

Neil was glad that no one from the Mission, particularly Alice, was present to hear his defence. "Miss Huddleston, much like Miss Henderson, appears to want to dedicate her life to helping others as she believes the Lord would have her do."

"Pish! Too much book learnin' be bad for girls! She's not as long in the tooth as the likes of Miz Alice," was the woman's affronted reply.

Charlie, long awaiting his feed, was the only one relieved to see the cabin perched above Big Spoon Creek. After seeing to his horse, Neil trudged back up the stairs to his cabin, not surprised to see his antique glass vase smashed into a thousand pieces on the doorstep. The wildflowers wilting next to his fishing gear. Margaret had undoubtedly vented her fury on as many of his possessions as she could reach. His shoulders slumped even more as he crossed the threshold to the one place where he usually felt peace, but now faced enmity.


	3. Part 3

**Part 3**

As Neil opened the door, he was startled by Margaret bustling out with the broom. Not wanting to knock her off her feet, he took several steps backward.

"Mac!" she exclaimed in surprise, smoothing her skirt. "You're back before dark." He did not respond, waiting for her mocking comment on his flight after Christy. He glanced down at the shattered glass and wildflowers. "I am sorry, Mac," Margaret said remorsefully. "Your grandmother's vase… it… I wish I had two cents to rub together. Not that I would ever truly be able to replace it. I… accidentally knocked it off when I was carrying my umbrella and bag inside. You see, I had finished cleaning and then I realised that I had quite forgot my belongings, not that I have many."

Neil rolled his eyes and his facial expression was not lost on her. He was surprised that she seemed to have changed tacks. She was not using seething rants or sobbing entreaties to manipulate him. In fact, he could smell fresh cornbread baking in the kitchen and she had built a welcoming fire in the hearth. "I made a lovely, vegetable broth," Margaret commented, "and I spiced it just the way you like it." She continued chatting, filling the silent void between them as she stooped and swept up the glass. After sweeping most of it into the dustpan, she was picking up a larger piece wedged between the floorboards, when she cut her palm.

Neil wondered if it was by design – a ploy to make him care for her. He guided her to a chair and grabbed a cloth from the saddle bag that he had slung onto the table. Margaret, her face flushed – he knew not by her dislike of his clinical manner or whether as an attempt to appear awed by his proximity – sat quietly. Neil studied her resigned, calm expression and mused about what a good actress she truly was. He measured out tincture of iodine and loosened the bloodied cloth that he had hastily tightened. "This will sting a wee bit," he muttered – something he now said almost as a matter of course. He added, "Not too deep, you should have worn your gloves." After he had applied the antiseptic and a small tourniquet, he found himself surprisingly unnerved by her silence. "You're very quiet, Margaret," he remarked.

"This place is full of memories, Mac," she replied softly, her fingers straying to still the hand packing up his supplies. "Memories of us…"

"Most of them bad," he retorted, deftly shrugging her off. "I have tried so hard to forget…" his voice trailed off as her slender fingers reached up to tuck an unruly curl back behind his ear.

"Mac," she softly murmured, "I…"

"Don't even bother…" he muttered, exhaling in frustration.

Margaret sighed, but she did not break eye contact or look hurt or surprised by his tone. She flexed her fingers, admiring his handiwork. Her large blue-grey eyes implored him to hold her once more. "It doesn't have to be this way, Mac," she tried again more silkily.

"You haven't asked me what happened at the Mission," he replied, changing the subject and standing up.

"I could tell by one look at your face when you came home," Margaret replied, following him as he finished clearing up the glass and then washed his hands.

"You could, huh?" Neil shot back as he went to take the cornbread out of the stove.

She bustled back in behind him, "You're disappointed because she accepted the Preacher's hand. I can't blame you for feeling put out. Before I returned, you must have been getting quite cosy with her."

Neil placed the bread on the rack to let it cool. "Seeing as how we all thought you were dead until a few months ago…" he began and then stopped, puzzling over whether he was playing in to Margaret's hands.

"You wish me as dead as mother does, then?" she asked, her voice seeming to be as pained as the expression in her eyes.

"Not at all," Neil replied, trying to convince himself of the veracity of this denial more than her. There were certainly lonely nights when he had thought about how he could have a new life if he was no longer bound to his rebellious wife. As a doctor, he knew that he would never truly wish anyone harm. But as a wronged man, he had sometimes doubted the strength of his moral convictions. He shook his head, "Alice doesn't really mean to disown you either, Margaret. We both sent you all the money we could for your treatments."

Margaret studied his creased face and changed the subject back to the young teacher who seemed to have usurped her place in her family's affections. "It must have been hard for you to watch Christy accept the proposal of the only… well, eligible man in this place."

"Not at all," he replied enigmatically.

Margaret's eyebrows arched in surprise as she watched him stir the broth.

She stood closer, the familiar scent of her perfume almost overpowering. "You… you mean you're not in love with her?" Margaret asked incredulously. "I was sure that the way you looked, when she spotted us down by the river, meant…"

Neil ignored her observations and his only response was, "She rejected David Grantland's proposal."

Margaret's astonishment was genuine, even if her next assertion was aimed at hurting her husband. Neil was gathering bowls and cutlery when she burst out, "I can see right through her! She's got some city beau in her sights – must write to him every week – waiting for him to come of age, no doubt! Then she will marry him and buy some fancy home in Asheville. Meanwhile, she looks like a saint – devoting herself to the outcasts who cling to these God-forsaken mountains!" Margaret continued her tirade. "No Preacher devoted to the backwoods for her, and as for the mountain men, I'm sure she is quite repulsed by them!"

Angry bile rose in Neil's chest and he thought of so many angry barbs - with which to pierce her - that he was momentarily unable to speak as they strangled at his throat. He almost flung the bowl of broth at her as he turned to sit at the table. He took his own bowl but felt unable to swallow or speak.

Margaret pulled her chair up next to him and suddenly seemed sympathetic to his plight as she gently reached for his hand clutching tightly at the spoon. "Let's not fight, Mac. I will admit that I was wrong. I thought you quite attached to her. We will… we will reconcile… I was begging you to take me back this afternoon and I meant every word. Why, Christy Huddleston, herself, came to the Tea House at El Pano and told me that you were 'worth fighting for' and that neither of us should 'grow old alone.' Don't you see, Mac? She wants us to be happy together – the people here are like her playthings - the parts of a jigsaw puzzle that she wants to fix – put back together."

Neil's shoulders slumped and he pensively ran a hand through his hair. Perhaps Margaret was right. Christy, with so many gracious and pretty ways, must have had her pick of young men who worked for her father's law firm. She must have attended church services and soirees with many wealthy gentlemen in Asheville.

He had humoured himself for some time that just possibly she would perhaps be willing; if he were free, to feel something for him; something beyond pity over his moody loneliness or a desire to 'save his soul'. Christy trusted him and helped him – she confided in him and laughed at his jokes. She sparred with him and sought him out for advice, didn't she? But, perhaps even that small glimmer of hope peeking out from behind the stormy clouds of his difficult life - was merely an illusion. Her declarations of Christian servitude and rushed farewell at the Mission now increased his doubts.

Margaret squeezed his hand. "I am truly sorry, Mac. I should never have left. I… I love you."

Neil glanced at her; the warm light from the fire made her raven hair glow and her soulful eyes glistened with repentant tears. Could he ever bring himself to love and trust her once more?


	4. Part 4

**Part 4**

Neil stared into the fire for some time – sullenly mulling over what Margaret had said about Christy's 'condescension' of doing a few years of Christian teaching before marrying some wealthy beau from North Carolina. He tried to look beyond Christy's devotion to the mission, but the mistrust that his wife had fed in him spiralled within his stomach – a swirl of doubts and irritations.

He began to eat his soup and Margaret handed him thick slices of bread to dip into it. Neil tried to think of facts to counter Margaret's interpretation of Christy's rejection of Grantland, but all he could think of was the number of times Ben Pentland talked of letters coming and going to Asheville.

Margaret filled the silence by describing her recent journeys – emphasising the camaraderie and artistic freedom that she felt with Abigail and Twyla – more so than any descriptions of her dalliances with male patrons. The omission was not lost on Neil as he finished his supper. He glanced away – galled by her audacity in expecting him to suddenly declare a rekindled flame of love and passion for his wayward wife.

Suddenly he cut her story short, "Where are my photographs?"

"Oh, I took them down to dust them and polish the frames," Margaret replied with studied nonchalance and dismissive flick of the wrist. Margaret rushed on, sensing how dark his mood was becoming, "How is your research progressing, Mac?"

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, "You've always resented my quest to cure trachoma."

"A lady is entitled to a change of heart," Margaret said, more playfully than indignantly. "I would love for you to explain it to me, Mac. You have such a… gift." Her delicate fingers caressed his skin from the rolled up sleeve at his elbow to his palm.

"Aye," Neil replied, shifting away and stretching his aching, broad shoulders, "and I suppose your aim is to convince me to take a big city offer – Philadelphia, so you can tread the boards of the Tivoli Theater once more," he stiffened as she stood up to massage his back. "I assume, in this scheme of yours, I will be in a different type of theater – getting cash rather than potatoes – at one of my alma maters."

"I must admit that the thought has crossed my mind," Margaret purred in his ear, her fingers nimbly stroking the tensed muscles of his back. "I must admit that I remember our time in Pennsylvania with more fondness than the many cold nights trapped in this cabin. But don't you see, Mac – it was you that I wanted? All those house calls to the back of beyond – sometimes for days on end! Imagine how hard that was on me? But I have missed you so much… and I have come to realise something, something that Christy Huddleston reminded me of yesterday…"

Neil exhaled in frustration as she trailed off, her décolletage resting against his back as her arms encircled him from behind. "And what exactly is that?" he snapped.

"Why, 'home is where the heart is' were her exact words," Margaret lied. "Asheville, Cutter Gap… where you find love is where you most want to be."

Neil shrugged off her embrace and stood up. "Make this easy on us both, woman! What do you want, Margaret?"

Her temper flared and her eyes flashed. "Love!" she exclaimed, her tone hurt. "I want what you have always wanted me to 'want'. I want to belong; I want to be at peace with you! You loved me once and you can love me again, Mac!"

Neil sighed and sat in the rocker to take off his boots. Margaret, suddenly behaving meekly, cleared the table and did the dishes. Neil was perplexed by the pendulum swings in her moods and the mismatch of her words and actions.

"I shall need some more clothes," Margaret quietly said after a strained silence, "I looked for my trunk, but couldn't find it. Is it in your lab?"

"Aye," Neil replied noncommittally, beginning to fill his pipe with tobacco.

"May I borrow the key?" Margaret asked, walking towards his quiet alcove. "Or will you let me in?"

The double meaning was not lost on Neil. He hesitated and she made a show of fishing his wedding ring as well as her own out of her pocket. Margaret smiled fondly as she undid the clasp on the necklace of her locket and slipped both rings onto the chain. She threaded them through and then refastened the clasp – letting the rings clink together against her pale clavicle. She stood in front of the mirror above the hearth, giving him every opportunity to study her soft, shining skin, her svelte figure and to marvel at the beauty of her fine features as she ran her fingers through her hair.

"I'll fetch your trunk," Neil muttered, eager to create some distance between them. He placed his pipe beside its rack and then strode into the next room.

Margaret studied his actions carefully, watching him move one of the cow-hides three feet from the door frame to locate the key. She then made a show of dusting the mantelpiece and stoking the fire. Neil glanced back at her, relieved that she was preoccupied. He could not take the risk that she would – in a fit of temper when he was called away - destroy his laboratory. Neil quickly retrieved her trunk and carried it through to the table. He then returned to place the key back away in its latest hiding place – smoothing the cow-hide over the knot-hole that he had placed it in.

Margaret was nowhere to be seen when he returned to the main room, but she soon appeared from the stairwell bearing a candle. She had changed into the lavender silk nightdress that he had always treasured – the very one that he had loaned to Christy on her first visit to his home – while her own clothes had dried by this very hearth.

Margaret watched Neil's eyes gloss over and a smile tug at the corners of his lips. She did not realise that his reminiscences – although pleasant – were not about her. He remembered lifting Christy from Old Theo's back and carrying her ashore, he remembered sparring with her and laughing at the way her nose wrinkled – but most of all, he remembered seeing the innocent naivety in her eyes as she entered the room with lavender silk clinging to her womanly curves. Margaret, on the other hand, was leering at him, bunching the fabric around her bust as she approached him – undoubtedly trying to manipulate his emotions – and he knew not for what purpose.

Frustrated, he pushed past her and thundered up the stairs. He quickly tossed off his clothes and pulled on the warmest pyjamas he could find. When Margaret padded into the bedroom a few minutes later, she found him adding fall leaves, twigs and other kindling to the coals in the grate. The wind whistled through the chimney as Neil stoked the fire and added a log. He turned to see Margaret gazing out the window.

"May I sleep beside you, Mac?" she whispered, turning when she saw his face reflected in the dark window.

"Suit yourself," Neil replied, watching her placing the candle on the bedside table and sitting gingerly on the edge.

Neil strode over to his side, pulled back the sheets and coverlet and tried to get comfortable. He could not bear to face her. The smell of her perfume and gentle rustling of the lavender silk nightdress was almost too much to bear. Margaret curled herself into the covers beside him – looking at the impenetrable barrier that was his back. She blew out the candle and gradually moved closer – placing a hand over him, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath.

"Enough," Neil grunted, sounding pained.

Margaret waited sometime – waited until his breathing slowed and became deeper – until he stopped fidgeting and tossing – until he was very much asleep. She almost cussed out loud when she heard him mumbling about a 'dance', 'my lass' and a 'frypan'. Feeling rejected and ill-tempered for being spurned by him, Margaret seethed with anger. His treatment of her smacked of injustice and it made her all the more determined to carry out her plan.

It was ironic that the very 'lass' he dreamt of had stopped her from fleeing on the 7.05 train from El Pano. That prying do-gooder had been right – it had not been a coincidence that the troupe had come to the Great Smokies. Margaret had specifically promoted the idea – but not because of some misguided quest for love and acceptance.

She had wanted to be at the rail stop every morning to sweet talk Ben Pentland into giving her Neil's mail. She needed to intercept any letters from New York, Baltimore or Philadelphia that would alert him to the news of the death of one of his benefactors. Margaret rolled her eyes at the way Pentland had seem so vexed by her attempts to convince him that she and Neil met regularly at the Tea House. He had soon succumbed to Abigail's charms and it had been easy to secure the letters from Kinnigan's attorneys.

Now, bitterer than ever - disowned by her self-righteous mother and discarded by the only man she had ever truly tried to love – Margaret decided that she had been right to plot against them. She would not even feel guilty when Hickson robbed her husband. She would have to hang around the cad long enough to get her cut – and then she would flee – perhaps New York, perhaps even London, would be her new home.

Margaret waited until Neil was snoring steadily and then she slipped out of bed and padded over to the window. She waited sometime, her face cupped in her hands against the cool glass until she saw lantern light down by the river. Margaret slowly tiptoed down the dark stairwell and pulled on her coat, relieved that the embers from the fire gave off enough light for her to make her way towards the laboratory. She found the key and turned it in the lock. Margaret cringed as the door squeaked on its rusty hinges. She held her breath, straining her ears to hear the creak of a floorboard to alert her to the fact that she had awakened her ungrateful husband.

After a minute, she felt for a lantern on the nearest shelf. Her fingers shook as she lit it. Margaret looked around at the ordered collection of books, papers, microscopes, instruments and diagrams. She made her way over to the window – holding the lantern aloft and waving it back and forth. She hoped that Hickson would not try to come up to the cabin – she thought him as clumsy as he was mercenary.

Margaret found the small briefcase under a stack of logbooks – meticulous notes about all of the 'good doctor's' hopeless cases. She carefully undid the leather buckles and pulled out the sheaf of papers. Margaret pulled the rolled up picture of Joseph Kinnigan from her pocket – checking the spelling against the letters and documents. She then stuffed as much of it as would fit into her pockets. Margaret hurriedly replaced the briefcase under the collection of logbooks.

For good measure, she searched among the medical journals until she found one that Neil treasured. It had been given to her husband by Dr. Kinnigan when they had worked on a project together at Will's Eye Hospital. Margaret studied the spine 'Case Studies in Ophthalmology' and just to be sure, opened it up to the fly-leaf to read the inscription: 'Neil – Sending you to the East, and even to Scotland, was nothing compared to sending you back to help your own dear people. I look forward to seeing what a talented young surgeon can achieve in our fight against the scourges of blindness and infection. Your affectionate mentor, Joe Kinnigan.'

Margaret put the book under her arm and carefully locked the laboratory – being careful to hide the key in the exact spot where she had found it. She placed the lantern on the table and then retrieved Neil's antique thistle-shaped cuff-links from the back of a bureau along with one of his tartan scarves from a hook. Margaret hurriedly wrote a farewell letter – leaving some of the more innocuous mail beside it – in case Ben Pentland opened his big mouth about her collecting the post. She then stuffed all of the items into her travelling case, along with the borrowed dress, leaving her umbrella behind in her haste. Grabbing the lantern, she darted outside, slowing only to close the front door before she rushed down to meet her accomplice, Hickson on the river bank. They had other banks to visit.


	5. Part 5

**Part 5**

The next morning, Neil read her note with bleary eyes and a dismissive shrug. He had assumed that her desire to rekindle their relationship would be short-lived. He was mildly surprised that she mentioned petitioning for divorce – that would cost a pretty penny and it was not much of a life for a woman – to have no protector or kin. Then he spitefully realised that that was exactly what she had wanted after all. Margaret wanted to be a free spirit – able to pursue her arts and affairs in her own style. Neil shook his head as he prepared some grits – he would never understand how the female mind worked. One minute, Margaret was toying with his affections – the next she was rushing off because it was all 'too hard.'

After making his breakfast, Neil glanced through the other mail that "Mr Pentland was kind enough to send over with me, your unwanted wife" – most of it advertisements about pharmaceutical supplies, which, unfortunately, he could not afford. Neil decided to make a few house calls and invite men to the working at Dan's cabin, which he hoped to organise before the end of the week. Perhaps, if he played his cards right, he would at least get to shoot the breeze with Christy – even if it was only for a few moments.

Neil's boots echoed as he trudged up the steps to the Mission. It was getting late. He had missed part of the working due to an emergency and he hoped to check on Christy. She'd been complaining of a headache and David had taken her back to the Mission hours ago. Alice had been moody – still upset over Margaret's latest diversion.

Neil stomped across the porch, tapped on the door and called out as he walked in to the parlour. It was empty. Surprised when Ruby Mae or Fairlight were not even in the kitchen, Neil called upstairs. Perhaps, some ladies were still at the working, but Grantland or Christy must be here somewhere.

"Shhh," David called down, taking two steps at a time. He reached the landing, "Miss Huddleston is asleep."

"I'll look in on her," Neil declared, turning to get his medical supplies from his saddlebags.

"That won't be necessary," David said stubbornly.

"Don't be petty," Neil grunted, pushing past David, caring little for his jealousy if Christy was unwell.

David lingered in the doorway like some kind of Victorian chaperone. Neil tried to ignore his presence. He gently pushed the door open. Ruby Mae was crouched beside her beloved teacher, holding a wet rag over her forehead.

"Fetch me some clean water, please?" Neil asked and Ruby Mae quickly left to be of assistance.

Neil put down his saddlebag and sat on the stool beside Christy's bed.

"Where does it hurt, lass?" he asked quietly, shaking her shoulder slightly.

Christy groaned and turned over, holding the rag over her eyes in the dimly-lit room. "Neil?"

"Yes, it's me," Neil replied, realising that she sounded very groggy. "What did you take?"

"David gave me a herbal tonic from Granny O'Teale," Christy mumbled.

Neil glared at the tall preacher in the doorway, realising that he'd probably unwittingly given Christy a strong dose of moonshine. "Sit up, lass. I'll just check you over and then I can give you some aspirin, alright?"

"My eyes are sore," Christy groaned. "Everything is so bright. I can barely keep my eyes open."

Neil gently tugged the washer away, promising that he would be very careful. He barely concealed his worry as he examined her. She had all the classic signs of trachoma – the scourge he had been fighting for many years; the disease that had robbed his dear Aunt Hattie of her sight! Much like the diagrams and dissections he performed as part of his research she had swollen eyelids, turned in eyelashes, swollen lymph nodes and eye discharge.

Seeing the woman he loved in such peril, made it hard for him to retain his clinical demeanor. He asked Ruby Mae to hold the washer over teacher's eyes while he checked her heart rate. It was accelerated – another sign of the dreaded eye disease.

Even though Margaret had stoked the fire of his self-doubts about ever being loved in return by Christy, he knew that this was something that he could do for the beautiful teacher. He had mastered this surgery, with Christy's encouragement, helping to restore Becky's sight.

"What's wrong with me, Neil?" Christy asked groggily.

"It's… it's treatable. You have contracted t… this condition in one of the cabins hereabouts – no doubt helping some poor family… it's trachoma."

Christy gasped and was immediately comforted by Ruby Mae and Neil. David, meanwhile, thundered down the stairs. Meaning to tell him that Neil would be able to operate as soon as his instruments were brought from his cabin, he followed the younger man.

David was in the kitchen, the late afternoon son casting shadows on his pained face. "Operator," he said into the phone mouthpiece, "connect me with the Huddleston's residence in Montford, Asheville, North Carolina."

Neil closed the distance between them, eager to reassure William or Julia that he had the situation in hand.

"Christy will need to come to a hospital there," David said immediately. "She's caught trachoma."

"I can operate right here," Neil complained, trying to take control of the Mission's telephone.

"Certainly, he's right here," David said and reluctantly handed the telephone's mouthpiece to Neil.

"You're sure about your diagnosis?" William asked at once.

"Yes," Neil said. "I can operate."

"We'd rather you did that here," her father replied. "We're not doubting your abilities, Neil. I have the use of my arms and legs due to you. We just want her to convalesce where we know that there won't be a risk of reinfection."

Neil looked at David's bitter expression and then agreed. "You want me to bring Christy on the next train from El Pano."

"We would be honoured to have you as our guest," William replied. "I must go – thank the Reverend for letting me know. I must break the news to Julia and George."

"Thank you, sir," Neil mumbled and then hung up. He relayed the conversation to David who fumed. He had hoped that Christy's father would ask him to escort her to Asheville. Surely there was a skilled doctor at their hospital and it would give him time alone with her and her family. Now, instead, he would have to stay in Cutter Gap and cover the children's lessons.

Neil tried not to gloat. This childish one-up-man-ship would not benefit Christy. He merely went upstairs to tell the young teacher and her student that he would soon be escorting her home for surgery and an extended vacation while she recovered from her operation. David angrily stomped outside, wondering if there was some way to 'invite himself' to Asheville. MacNeill was not free to court her and should not even be considering spending all that time with her and her family.


	6. Part 6

**Part 6**

Christy's last memory of Cutter Gap was the sound of small feet running and echoing on the Mission steps. She heard so many children's concerned voices 'swapping howdies' with her before she returned to Asheville: Little Burl, Sam Houston, Issak, Creed, Lulu, Mountie, Zady, Toot, Vella, Jake, Clara, Will, Bessie, Rob, John, Zach, Becky, Smith, Vincent, Orter Ball, Lizette and Wraight, and many more

"Oh, it will be alright children!" she tried to comfort them. Neil reached down and scooped up Becky O'Teale, explaining to the children that Teacher's eyes would soon be fixed just like Becky's. Christy was relieved when Alice, David and Fairlight also began to reassure the children.

"We'll shorely miss ya!" John told her as his father and the Preacher settled Teacher into the wagon.

"Yeah, a powerful lot," Zach agreed, watching the Doc shielding her bandaged eyes after he too joined Mr Spencer in the wagon.

"Thank you children, I want you to remember all of the blessings you are given each day. Will you do that for me?" Christy asked them.

After listening to their exclamations and well-wishes, she had said her final goodbyes to all of her friends at the Mission. She had then settled back between Neil and Jeb for the ride to El Pano.

Christy felt like her other senses were heightened. She found herself listening to the pleasing cadence of Neil's voice as they jostled along on the muddy path. She felt the warmth of his arm resting on the back of her chair and felt safer – she had worried once or twice that bumps in the trail would led to her falling from the wagon bench.

After Jeb helped load their trunks on to Old Buncombe, Christy settled herself beside Neil for the long trip to Asheville. The sounds of the railway platform were soon replaced by the chatter in the carriage; the smell of coal-fired smoke was replaced by Neil's familiar smell of lye soap and leather.

"Well, no possum in sight! Let's dig in!" he said as jovially as he could, passing Christy a slice of cornbread from the Mission poke.

The reassuring warmth of his fingers as he guided her hand to the food sent a tingle down her spine.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked in concern, and she was again reminded how carefully he studied her even though she could not see him.

She smiled and nodded, taking small bites of the cornbread, pleased at the sweet taste of sourwood honey that had been used to bake it. It was Fairlight's batch for sure.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Christy eventually broke it by asking for a handkerchief.

"Allow me," Neil mumbled and then self-consciously patted the crumbs away from her pretty lips.

He paused and then cleared his throat before huskily asking if she wanted some more water. He saw her tense nod and guided the small flask to her pink lips, thinking all the more intently about how he wished he was free to kiss her.

He felt an aching need – from the pit of his stomach to his flushed face – to cradle her in his arms and soothe away all of Christy's fears about her upcoming eye surgery. He contented himself with keeping his fingers busy, gently adjusting her travelling hat over her bandaged eyes, before taking back the flask.

"You are a very kind friend, Neil," Christy murmured appreciatively.

"Thank ya kindly," he replied in his best Cutter Gap drawl, trying to keep his tone light.

Christy laughed and began to chatter about all of the people of the Cove who she would miss and pray for every day. Neil listened to her voice rise and fall as she relaxed beside him. She began to sound sleepy and he was relieved that the laudanum was beginning to take effect. He had insisted on giving her a dose before they boarded the train. The last thing he wanted was for her to be in pain during their journey.

It galled him to think that his wayward wife had once again left him – his wedding ring seeming like a chain stopping him from being free to follow his heart.

Christy, meanwhile, was thinking of how much joy she would feel when she could once more see light dance in Neil's azure eyes. She fell asleep for the long journey back to Asheville.


	7. Part 7

**Part 7**

For Neil, the worst aspect of Christy's operation was the modern 'viewing room'. It had been donated to the Asheville Teaching Hospital by the Biltmore estate. He was relieved that the Huddleston's had pushed to have the procedure completed there. After all, it had the best nurses and anesthetic equipment in the state. As Neil made each incision, however, he was very much aware of the small crowd of medical students observing his every move. More to the point, William, Julia and George Huddleston, were studying the procedure as well.

If he had not become so skilled at the new techniques, he would have handed the scalpel and other devices to another physician. He knew his heart thumped in his chest not from adrenaline, but from fear, that the woman he loved would suffer from some mistake he made. It took all of Neil's determination and years of clinical practice for him to focus not on Christy's pretty face, but her pressing need for her vision to be restored.

The procedure went well and Christy's eyes were soon being bandaged. She was wheeled out to the private wards whilst she regained consciousness. Neil made a brief speech, starting by thanking her family for their trust in him, and reassuring them that she should soon be reading her beloved poetry and Scriptures once more. He then answered a number of questions from various medical students about his research and use of different pieces of surgical equipment.


	8. Part 8

**Part 8**

After a brief lunch in Pack Square, Neil and the Huddleston's returned to the Hospital to check on Christy's recovery. Much to Neil's surprise, she had not regained consciousness. He tried not to alarm her family in the least. Instead he went in search of the fellow in charge of anesthesia.

"I am terribly sorry, Dr. MacNeill," the young physician said worriedly when Neil found him in the meeting room. He was poring over several medical journals.

"What happened?" Neil asked. "Just tell it to me straight, Dr. Bairns."

"There was damage to the laryngoscope, Dr," he replied. "I fear that your young friend received a much higher dose of the general than we've ever administered. I have telephoned the New York experts, but am waiting for a return call."

"We should be constantly monitoring her respiration!" Neil exclaimed, rushing away from the man with his telephone calls and journals. Didn't he realize that the patient was the focus? Neil began to worry that, by insisting they use 'the best', some experimental forms of anesthesia had seriously, perhaps fatally, harmed his dearest Christy.


	9. Part 9

**Part 9  
**

Throughout the following days, Neil barely slept. The Huddleston's each took turns bringing him meals and keeping him company. He even found himself, in between checking her vital signs, reading the Bible from her bedside chest of drawers. He pored over it, at times cursing God, at other times hoping that he could find some words of hope that would inspire her to keep breathing; to regain consciousness. The word from the New York pioneers of the anesthetic method was discouraging. Neil even rang the physician back, wanting to question the man himself.

On the third day of her coma, Neil began reading through Psalms aloud, hoping that the words she found so inspirational would break through and win the war waging in her body! It was also on the third day that Mr Robertson arrived. He had been one of Dr. Kinnagan's most trusted assistants, whilst the older benefactor was still in practice. Mr Robertson had heard through the grapevine in the New York fraternity of Neil's plight and had travelled on a sleeper from the Big Apple.

To his great surprise, he found Neil praying beside the young patient's bedside. Raising his eyebrows, he waited by the door, holding his satchel still lest he interrupt the astonishing moment where the very stiff-necked Neil MacNeill acknowledged that his Redeemer ruled and could breathe new life into the young woman. Neil held Christy's hand tightly and wiped a stray tear away with his shirtsleeve, begging the Lord God Almighty to save her, as he clearly could not.

Hearing a noise at the door, Neil feared that William had returned early from his appointment. He did not want to look like a weeping woman in front of Christy's father! To his surprise and delight it was an old friend from New York.

"Robertson!" he said warmly, standing to clap his former colleague on the back.

"MacNeill!" the medical assistant smiled. "I'm sorry we couldn't meet again under better circumstances. When I heard of what had happened to this poor young missionary I had to come. I am afraid, however, that not much is known about the effects; beyond what you have already been told."

Neil nodded and briefly apprised him of Christy's vital signs. He had been charting them most fastidiously.

"I shall be happy to take a turn at Miss Huddleston's side," Robertson told him. "You must gain some sleep for the night ahead."

Neil eventually agreed, but before he left to rest in one of the lounges, he asked, "Ahh, I forgot to inquire, how does good old Kinnigan do in retirement? He must be on several medical boards just to occupy his time!"

Robertson's forehead creased in concern. Their late benefactor's attorney had confirmed with him at the Club that Neil had inherited the bulk of Kinnigan's estate after his recent death. Was Neil really that sleep deprived that he did not remember travelling to New York to receive the funds and inspect the properties? Fearing that some fraud may have been committed against his friend, Robertson reluctantly related what he knew.

"I… I never even received a letter!" Neil exclaimed, beginning to pace and worry – not so much about the money – but about the fact that he had been robbed of the opportunity to pay his final respect to his kind mentor. "Margaret!" Neil muttered and then cursed under his breath. She had taken some books, photographs and correspondence when she had last left the Cove; she must have seen this as a 'get rich scheme'.

"Would you like me to hire you an attorney?" Robertson asked.

"No," Neil mumbled, "Thank you for your offer though. I shall ask Christy's father for his assistance in the matter."

"It is a pity that Margaret still plagues you," Robertson said regretfully.

"If only I could divorce her," Neil spat bitterly. "She does not stay put long enough for it to take effect. Dear Lord, if only I could marry someone kind like Christy."

A sudden cough from Christy drew them back into her room. Neil reached her side, feeling her pulse and checking that she was breathing with the aid of a mirror. Christy's hand slowly reached up, touching the fabric at her eyes.


	10. Part 10

**Part 10**

Neil took her cold fingers into his trembling ones, bringing them to his lips to kiss them. "Lass, you're in the hospital. Your eyes are still bandaged. You… you are recovering. By God's Hand, you are going to get well, and when you do… I shall somehow divorce Margaret and we can be united as man and wife!"

Christy was delighted by the joy of the children that she could hear in his voice as he continued to pray over her; to tell her of how her Daddy would soon return to help them to sort out the business with Margaret; how God had given her back to him so that they could finally be together. Robertson quietly left the room, going in search of a hot meal for Neil; at least the man could eat, if he would not yet sleep.

"N…Neil…" Christy managed at last, her throat parched. "What about my eyes? If I can't see… I… I may not m…make a good wife."

"You will be the best wife that the Lord ever blessed a man with!" Neil exclaimed, again bringing her fingers to his lips. "If you will take a possibly penniless divorcee as your husband, that is."

"I w… would be h…honoured," Christy whispered, a joyful tear running down her cheek as he helped her to sip water and kissed her other hand over and over again.

This scene was what William found when he returned from his appointment. After delighting over his Little Girlie, William watched whilst Neil slowly removed the outer bandages, to clean the wounds near her eyes. William then listened to Neil's extraordinary tale. He would soon relay it all to Julia and George - from Neil's conversion, to Robertson's revelations and to his conditional proposal to Christy. Seeing Christy's joyful smile, William knew that, whatever happened, his family would support her desire to eventually marry Neil.

The next day, Robertson kept the other medical staff at bay, whilst Neil removed all of the bandages, so that they could see if the operation had been a success.

"Now, my Lass, we have lowered all the blinds, the sunlight would have been a shock to you. I hope and pray that you shall be able to see. Slowly open your eyes," Neil said nervously.

Christy's eyelashes fluttered and then she blinked, peering into the dimly lit room. At first, she could barely make out the shapes of the four people gathered around her hospital bed. She then saw her brother's tousled hair and cheeky grin, her Mother's eyes full of love, her Father's watchful concern and finally the light and joy dancing in Neil's eyes.

"I can see!" Christy exclaimed happily. "I know the Lord says that we shall walk by faith and not by sight, but it's such a blessing to be able to see you all!"

They each hugged her; Neil's embrace was at first delicate, but she gave him a fierce bear hug, and proclaimed, "I love you Neil MacNeill!"

"I love you too," Neil replied, "and we shall indeed walk by faith until I can walk you down the aisle!"

Her family clapped and Neil sealed his promise with a brief kiss. It was one of the happiest days of Christy's life, and one she often told their granddaughter about.

**The End**

_Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing_


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